There is one central Neo-Romantic contradiction which
animated the lives of all the Neo-Romantic artists in Philadelphia in the Aughts: we were all
engaged with the world around us on as many levels as possible. Yet, to follow
through on the quest and the aptitude to create innovative, provocative, and
major high art consonant art, we all needed to maintain (sometimes) an extreme
degree of solitude as well. I can’t speak for Abby, but for me, the tug between
solitude and solitary creation on one side and social and/or sexual engagement
on the other was a hard row to hoe. This contradiction is there for all serious
artists, but we, all of us, were perhaps more baroque, labyrinthine, and
apparitional then other artists at other times, as the smorgasbord we had
before was so rich and so tricky. So, we had to flail around and attempt to
find as much solidity as we could on as many levels as we could. What Abby gives us, in Frozen Warnings, is a sense of two things:
total emotional entropy between two individuals, and a manifest formal/thematic
triumph over the insipid Americana of Andrew Wyeth, on his own turf. Abby, in
fact, has ways of triumphing over PAFA (Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts) formalism simply by painting situations
as emotionally charged (sometimes sexually also, sometimes not) as possible.
The pursuit of passions and emotions in serious art is always solid. It also
manages to bridge the gap between solitary worlds of creation and levels of
social engagement. Takes us, solidly, to Apparition Poem 1341:

Secrets whispered behind us

have a cheapness to bind us

to liquors, but may blind us

to possibilities of what deep

secrets are lost in pursuit of

an ultimate drunkenness that

reflects off surfaces like dead

fishes at the bottom of filthy

rivers— what goes up most is

just the imperviousness gained

by walking down streets, tipsy,

which I did as I said this to her,

over the Schuylkill, two
fishes.

Individuals who live in multiple worlds often do not find it
easy to connect. All the Apparition Poems elements— the night, the city, sex,
death, drunkenness— coalesce around the vagaries of trying to communicate the
incommunicable, which may be incommunicable for practical or for
psycho-spiritual reasons. The dry ice I-it here, is matched by Abby’s
equivalent of the same in Frozen Warnings. From Center City Philadelphia in the
Aughts, we all had to live through a certain amount of dry ice— the city is not
a solitary place, even when you need it to be, and it was invasive and
intrusive sometimes. Aughts Philly, in fact, had and was a kind of
merry-go-round game, which meant that mastering the stops, when to get on and
when to get off (so to speak), was a delicate art. Artists need space. Frozen
Warnings is given by Abby here a suburban template, but involves urban issues
too— what happens when hipster-ism and scenester-ism turn sour, and what sinks
in is the gravitas of one’s own isolation? The Neo-Romantic obsession with multi-tiered
living is also frustrated by the dynamics of balancing imperatives to join and
imperatives to self-isolate as well. So that, our reaction to this dilemma
could not be dictated to us by Philadelphia’s
architecture; that could only lend rigor to the art we were creating. As to
what should constitute the life, we were all more or less on our own, and it
remains that way to this day.